An Uneventful Recovery
by tami3
Summary: Kid, stranded in Guldove and fighting the Hydra Fever with little sucess, waits for a certain visitor.


An Uneventful Recovery  
  
Oy, Serge, I never told you myself that I was going to die . . . it's odd, but people who've gotten their share of bad luck can always tell when another bout's about to come around, 'specially if its something as bad as a slow, lingering, boring death. And I don't fell that black shadow at my shoulder just yet, rattling his skeletal body like a noisemaker just to spook me and tapping me on the shoulder with that scythe of his, telling me to stop fightin' the effects of the poison and hurry up. Well, the grim reaper can just budge up along to his next client, and leave me in wallowing in sweaty misery in my bed, cuz' I can't feel that blade hitting me or hear those scare tactics. There's that distant ringing of a high fever screeching in my ears with the ocean as background white noise, and fire meltin' my insides, but that's just the venom talking and I'm ready to ignore it.  
  
Look, I'm still coherent enough to tell that Doc's putting a cold compress on my forehead to fight my fever, brushing my damp bangs away from my eyes with his calloused fingers and stroking my hair sympathetically for a few moments before moving on to something else. See, I heard him say early on that by this stage my brain should be broiled to mush in its own juices by now. Ok, mebbe he didn't word it that way, but I don't feel like putting my energy into recalling everything he said to that hawk guy.  
  
Yeah, he's my only regular visitor, and he brings in that kid sometimes too, whose always peeking at my stuff, which Doc stashed on the shelves for me. I wish I could tell if it's a boy or a girl, so I can hunt em down later when I'm better in case its some perv poking around for undies, but my vision went all blurry just before 'it's' first appearance. The hawk guy talks to me sometimes, but most of the time he just looks at me and shakes his head. When he opens his mouth, I listen up, because I'm always hoping he's got something to say about you. He mentions your name a lot, but the things he attaches to it makes me thankful that I'm probably going to forget most of it anyways. He didn't like it that you left me by myself. I'm thinking along the same lines, but I know that haven't abandoned me completely. I mean, you're the kinda guy that wouldn't waste time, and if Doc told you that I'm dying, of course you wouldn't go all moony by my bedside flashing googly sad eyes at me. You'd go do the things you have to do before popping in for a visit before I'm finished off by the wound. And when you see I've done this well so far, well . . . you'd reconsider hunting down the cure, wouldn't you?  
  
Ahh . . . ! Geez, my stomach feels like a furnace. . . Heh . . . least I now know what it's like to be facing me in battle. The sickness is can even stimulate getting stabbed with my knife, there's that poking pain that sticks me in the gut once in a while. Its bad, having to deal with the sickness and sad feelings welling up inside me, and it's not like I can vent them out by kickboxing with an invisible enemy, but I'm more patient than everyone thinks. I've sweltered like a pig underneath these sheets for some time now, but I've kept my temper and held down the urge to throw them off, cuz' I know that'd just give me the chills too. See, I've been bouncing around the globe all my life, and I've kept a reserve for quiet and healing in me that I'm dipping into now. Bugger. . . my head. . . really hurts. . .  
  
Never mind. If I let it get to me I'll just urp all over myself and then I'll stink on top of everything else I have to put with in the first place. Anyways, I've been stubborn since I've been a kid, and I'm determined to cling on to life just long enough to see you alright on your own, if not to piss off the devil for being so darned disrespectful to his schedule. I dunno what it is with you. But I just wanna see you through to the end and happy, content with what you've got. I might feel as if I've chopped off a limb and handed to you, but I'm glad that I gave you my amulet. It's a good luck charm, if nothing else, and it'll act as my deputy as a reminder that you're on my mind, even if I can never venture off this mattress ever again. It feels odd, not having that thing stuck into my hip like a second dagger, cuz for as long I can remember, that packet's been strapped to my side and kept up my morale even when things looked so grim I was tempted to just plant myself on the ground and wait for fate to hand me something I could use.  
  
So . . . All I've got to do it wait a bit for things to improve, or not. There's not much worse than stewing into a bubbling goo from the inside out, but Doc assured Hawk boy that in a few days I'd start spitting up my own decayed organs. After that my body'll put up one final stand and push so much effort into purging that my heart'll burst. But there's still a waiting period to endure. So won't you come soon? C'mon, mate, you gotta come soon . . .  
  
// *shrug* Who likes being alone when they're sick? I was one of the people who was willing to let Kid go, since I was rooting for Leena anyways, but at the very least a mortally wounded ally should get 1 bedside visit. Can't be very interesting, with no options for entertainment besides countless hours of delirium . . .// 


End file.
